Hanging up the phone, Oleg walked back across the room and closed the drapes. Then he switched on several lamps around the study and went through his mental checklist. Ah, yes, the mobile phones. He turned to Luganov, searched around, and finally found his phone in his back pocket. He used it rarely, mostly when he wanted to have unrecorded conversations with Katya. Next he patted Nimkov down until he found his mobile phone in the right pocket of his suit jacket. He was tempted to steal them. Both phones—particularly the FSB chief’s—had invaluable intelligence on them. But Marcus had been explicit. Silence them so they could not ring, but do not take them. Mobile phones could be tracked. Lifting one would trigger suspicion and a response.
Oleg checked his watch. He needed to get moving. He stepped back inside the restroom and calmly washed the blood off his hands and face. He wiped off his suit and his shoes, then dried his hands. Taking a fresh towel with him, he returned to the study. Now he retrieved his raincoat and put it on. This would cover the blood on his clothes. Then he grabbed his briefcase, wiped it down, and pulled out the digital recorder. He pushed Stop to end the recording and plugged earbuds in to listen in privacy. It took a moment of rewinding to find where he had exploded at the president and FSB chief. This part, and everything that followed, he erased. Then he rewound to the beginning, yanked out his earbuds, set the device on the desk, and pressed Play, turning up the volume so that it would sound—from the hallway, anyway—like people were still talking in the study.
He looked around one last time to make sure he hadn’t left anything behind. He hadn’t, but he suddenly remembered one more element of Marcus’s instructions. He pulled out his personal mobile phone and sent a one-word text to a Russian mobile number Marcus had given him. Хорошо. “Kharasho” in Russian meant “good.”
He put on his leather gloves and scarf and walked out the door of the study, through the short hallway, out the second door, and into the care of an armed escort ready to take him to his helicopter. No one hovering around the door struck Oleg as suspicious. But as they walked briskly to the helipad, his thoughts turned to Katya Slatsky. She was going to be furious to be leaving the palace with him and not her lover. He was going to need to say something to calm her down, and Marcus had given him nothing. He’d only insisted Oleg find a way to keep her away from Luganov, lest she find his body before his detail and scuttle any chance, however small, of a safe escape.
Yet Katya was the least of his problems. When he reached the north entrance, Oleg realized that he had completely forgotten about the fact that he would be assigned a new security detail. Apparently Marcus had too. Now six large and well-armed men were waiting to board the helicopter with him and Katya for the short hop to the airport.
“Commander, I need you and your team to meet me at the airport!” Oleg told the head of the detail over the whining rotors. “The president has an important message he needs me to share with Miss Slatsky. I’m afraid it’s of a very sensitive, personal nature, and we need to be alone.”
“That would be highly irregular, sir, especially after what happened to you this morning,” the agent shouted back.
“These are the express orders of the president,” Oleg replied. “But you’ll never make it in time on the roads. Order another chopper, and I’ll wait for you there. And don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”
Oleg did not wait for an answer. He pulled the side door of the helicopter shut, locked it, and ordered the pilot to take off for Domodedovo immediately. The pilot did as he was told. Katya, however, erupted with a torrent of profanity.
“Quiet, quiet, please, Katya. I have good news,” Oleg told her. “I’m sorry you’re feeling hurt and that we had to move so quickly. I truly am. Please know that. But the president cannot be disturbed by anyone right now, for reasons that you’ll understand very soon, I promise.”
“But I keep calling him, and he doesn’t answer,” she cried, her mascara running.
“He can’t—not right now—but I have to tell you something very important.”
“What?” she pressed. “What is it?”
Oleg took a deep breath, pulled off his gloves, and took her shivering hands in his own, leaning close to her ear. “The president—I can’t believe I’m telling you this; he swore me to secrecy—but I just have to tell you.”
“What is it, Oleg Stefanovich? Stop torturing me.”
“Okay, I will,” he said, and he leaned in even closer. “The president…”
He took a deep breath.
“…is about to propose to you.”
Katya’s eyes went wide.
“It’s true,” Oleg assured her. “He showed me the engagement ring he bought for you. It’s enormous, gorgeous.”
“Are you serious? Aleksandr Ivanovich is really going to ask me to marry him?”
“I think it might even be tonight,” Oleg added. “He didn’t tell me where or how, but I got the impression it just might be tonight.”
Katya squealed with delight.
“I beg of you, please don’t tell him I told you,” Oleg pleaded. “But I could see how upset you were. I didn’t want you to think ill of the president. He has so many burdens on him right now, but he needs you to know he loves you and that you’ll never be parted.”
Katya couldn’t speak. She was overwhelmed with emotion and collapsed into Oleg’s arms, weeping with joy and tremendous relief.
93
DOMODEDOVO INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT, MOSCOW—29 SEPTEMBER
The G4 had to be deiced again.
That took another twenty minutes. The temperature was dropping and visibility was poor and worsening with the driving snow. Then Oleg’s text came in, and everything changed.
“It’s him,” Marcus said, staring at the screen of the mobile phone.
“And?” Morris asked, double-checking the gauges on the console one more time.
“He’s on his way.”
Morris looked up at her partner. She was still angry with him. He could only imagine what she’d be like if she knew the whole story.
“You’d better go,” she said. “I’ll make sure everything’s ready.”
“Thanks,” he said to her, “for everything.”
“We’re not out of the woods yet, Ryker. Put on your headset and don’t get caught.”
She handed him a whisper mic and an earpiece, which he put on at once. She did the same. They tested them with a few sentences each. Then Marcus chambered a round in his pistol, put the gun in the holster under his jacket, and unlocked the cockpit door. He opened the cabin door and lowered the steps, and he was off.
Marcus headed straight across the tarmac for the airport security car the agents had left him. Only then did he remember that the car hadn’t been brushed off since they’d boarded the plane. It took several minutes to wipe everything down, especially the headlights, and several more to chip a layer of ice off the driver’s-side lock. It took longer for the engine to turn over and warm up. But once he had it running, he jacked up the heat and the windshield wipers and unzipped the canvas bag on the passenger-side floor.